


Photographs

by SpaceKase



Category: Sally Face (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Death, Divorce, F/F, Gen, Miscarriage, Post-Divorce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 21:35:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15009917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceKase/pseuds/SpaceKase
Summary: Diane didn't need to look at the calendar when she woke up.The tension and dread in the air of the still-dark morning told her exactly what day it was.





	Photographs

**Author's Note:**

> This terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad idea struck me at like...1 AM weeks and weeks ago, and it would. not. leave. ME. ALONE.
> 
> You all know how it is. *shrugs*
> 
> There's lots of potentially triggering things in this one-shot; I've done my best to tag them all, but in case I've missed any, then please; PLEASE let me know.

Diane didn't need to look at the calendar when she woke up. The tension and dread in the air of the still-dark morning told her _exactly_ what day it was.

Almost subconsciously, she reached for her neck, where her fingers gingerly stroked at the edge of a large scar. It had nearly been ten years, but there were times where it felt like her throat had _just_ been ripped open by several sharp teeth.

She still loved dogs, despite everything. She was far more nervous around strange, big ones than she used to be, though.

Diane got up from her twin-sized bed, and tried to ignore how strange it still felt, sleeping alone. How strange it was that her husband was sleeping in the next room over, also alone.

As she started her daily routine, she told herself not to look under her bed, where she knew the photos were. Henry had wanted to get rid of them all, even destroy them.

Thank God she'd saved so many...last night's bad dream had made her relive that horrible afternoon yet again.

The most frightening part about it was that she couldn't quite remember _his_ face.

\---

Henry clearly knew what day it was, too. He looked worse than Diane felt, she noticed over breakfast that morning...she knew a hangover when she saw one.

It was a problem, Diane knew, but she couldn't really fault her husband for it. It was a coping mechanism; it wasn't a healthy one, but she still _understood._

He made breakfast for the two of them; sunny-side-up fried eggs and microwavable bacon. Salt and pepper for hers, plenty of hot sauce for his. In return, she made fresh, hot coffee; plenty of cream for hers, while his was pure black.

A good breakfast for a hangover, as well as heartache.

Diane couldn't stand the silence they ate in. Couldn't stand a _lot_ of this, really; it had been horrible enough, while it was going on, but watching her husband pull away so hard and fast, watching him wither away to the skeleton of the man she'd once loved...

It was almost like she'd lost _two_ of the most important people in her life, instead of one.

She sighed. "Henry," she whispered. It was all she could manage; her voice box had been permanently damaged, that awful day. She could no longer speak. "Say something, _please._ Talk to me."

Her husband's eyes met hers for only a second before they went back down to his plate. He used to dip his toast or his bacon in the warm, runny egg yolk, back when he still had his zest for life. Now she could only see a person eating robotically, for no reason other than that he needed to do so to stay alive. No other reason than habit.

_"Henry..."_

"What do you _want_ me to say, Diane?" It hurt, seeing so _little_ in those bright eyes she'd once fallen in love with. "There's nothing to be said. Nothing to be _done."_ He stabbed the bit of egg white that was left over with his fork. There was still plenty left on his plate, but Diane knew he wouldn't be able to bring himself to finish it. "There's _nothing_ that can make this better."

"It's almost been ten years..." They were hollow words. They meant nothing.

"Does it matter?" And _Henry_ knew it, too. "There's not a time limit for this. There's not an acceptable amount of time where it'll suddenly all be okay."

She wanted to argue, tell him that that wasn't what she meant. She didn't bother, though; things were hard enough, as it was.

It wasn't living, Diane thought to herself. Ever since that afternoon, they'd just been _co-existing._

She finished her breakfast, mulling the thought over and over in her head. _We both deserve better…_

\---

The divorce dragged on and on.

It had been Henry’s idea, oddly enough; to think, Diane had thought that he was more stuck in this rut than _she_ was.

At least she could still be surprised by things. Thank goodness for small favors.

If anyone were to ask her what the final straw was for Henry, she would have said that there _wasn’t_ one; that it had been a long time coming.

Secretly, though, she had a feeling that their move to Addison Apartments had a big hand in it.

Neither she nor Henry had ever been devoutly religious; her parents had been Protestant, his had been Catholic, but neither had strictly enforced their beliefs on them. She couldn't call herself religious, and she didn't think Henry could, either.

Diane _did_ think of herself as spiritual, though; she had believed in such things ever since she was little. Ever since she'd stepped foot on this property, every single one of the hairs on the back of her neck had stood on end; a feeling of dread had been laid cold and heavy in the pit of her stomach.

The building had felt _off,_ from the very beginning. She wasn't sure if it was haunted, but she wouldn't have been surprised if it were. Or if there were...something _else_ lurking there.

Henry hadn't agreed. Whether it was because he genuinely didn't believe in such things, or because he was starting a new round of 'going into his own head and forgetting the rest of the world,' Diane truly didn't know. If he felt negatively about the building, he didn't realize it consciously.

The move was supposed to be a new, fresh start for the two of them, but it only wound up making them tenser. It only brought to light just how miserable they were.

So far, they'd agreed that she would stay here for the time being, and he would be the one to move out. He was staying in a motel for now; Diane suspected that he'd be moving back in with his parents until he figured out something more permanent.

Despite the current situation, she was happy for him. She was glad he had something to fall back on.

That wasn't the case, for her; neither of her parents were alive. Diane _had_ no other options; she, a mute woman, was now living on her own in a cursed, possibly haunted apartment, full of tenants who didn’t speak a lick of American Sign Language, and others who only had a cursory understanding of it. She was going through a hard divorce that felt like it was never going to end.

Diane wanted to laugh. What did it say, that this _wasn't_ the worst situation she'd ever been in?

Like that one woman from that one old movie, though, she found herself relying on the kindness of strangers. Specifically, the kindness of the building's sole custodian, one Lisa Johnson.

Diane liked Lisa immediately. Lisa was a hands-on sort of woman; the sort of person who would get right to the root of any problems she had, and would do her best to do the same for other people. She was optimistic while also being realistic; she had a good head on her shoulders. Somewhat different from Diane; _she'd_ always been told that she had her head constantly in the clouds. It was nice, being around someone who was down to Earth without being completely depressing. 

The similarities between them were still something to behold, though; they'd both had _so_ many troubles in their lives. Lisa knew all about Diane's situation with Henry; she'd been there for the whole sordid affair, after all. In a rare moment where Lisa decided to take a break for coffee, she told her about her own husband, James, who'd left her and her teenaged son Larry very recently. Diane told her about Sal; Lisa told her about a miscarriage she'd had when Larry was still little. 

It was a friendship that Diane valued. Over time, it became something _more._ They were there for each other; they confided in each other when they had to. Lisa began taking lessons in American Sign Language in order to help Diane in her everyday life; when Lisa grew under the weather, Diane did her best to take on her duties. 

Was it really any surprise, when they finally kissed one evening? 

Maybe, at first; this was a part of herself Diane had never really thought about before, and it seemed to be a part of Lisa that she hadn't even known existed. 

It was new. It was frightening. And it was exciting. 

The biggest problem was Lisa's son. 

Diane liked Larry a lot. The boy seemed to have a penchant for getting into trouble--evidently he'd spent a few weeks in Juvenile Hall due to an incident with fire crackers--and Lisa often lamented about the fact that he smoked marijuana--less out of judgement for doing something illegal, and more because she was worried about her son's developing mind and health, which Diane could fully understand--but overall, her first impression of him had been that of a laid-back, creative young man. 

The problem was that he didn't seem to like _her_ very much, in return. He was never cruel to her, but the politeness he showed her seemed forced and clipped. Any time she'd show up in the basement to visit, he'd shut himself in his room and turn up his stereo as loud as he could. Apparently he liked heavy metal; it was a genre Diane had never been able to get into. 

"Jim's leaving has been hard on him," Lisa told her apologetically one night. The shawl around her shoulders was one that Diane had made ages ago; the dark forest green looked nice around Lisa's olive skin and dark hair. Her hands clutched a mug of tea that Diane had made. Specifically, she'd made it after she shoved Lisa into the couch, all but ordering her not to move. 

“He still thinks Jim’s going to come back some day.”

 _I see,_ signed Diane. _That can’t be easy._

If there were ever an understatement spoken, that was it.

Lisa shook her head and took a sip from her tea. Convinced that she wasn’t going to try to get up and start working again, Diane sat down next to her and placed a hand on her knee.

“So,” she whispered. There was a lull in the air conditioning, which meant that Diane would be able to hear her. “He thinks you’re being unfaithful to your husband, and that it’s all _my_ fault.” It explained why Larry was being so cold to her.

“I guess that’s one way of putting it.” Lisa shook her head, making her thick, long hair brush over her shoulders. Diane resisted the urge to run her fingers through it. “We _are_ still technically married. If he’d at least left a phone number, I could get in contact with him. Make the divorce official, you know?” She took another sip of her tea. “He left us so suddenly…I’d _assume_ that a divorce would be what he wants, right?”

That was pretty sound logic, Diane thought. What kind of man would leave his wife, who was prone to illness, to raise their teenaged son on her own?

Diane found new respect for Henry, during that conversation. He might have grown distant and taken to trying to drink his troubles away, but at least he’d stayed in their marriage for as long as he could, trying to make it work.

 _You’re still hurting,_ signed Diane. _Larry is, too. Things will work out; we just need to give it time._

Lisa smiled at her, taking one of her hands and holding it with a tenderness Diane hadn’t felt in years. “I’m sure you’re right. We just need to be patient, right?”

Diane nodded with a smile. She used to be a mother; Lisa currently was one. If _they_ couldn’t be patient with this, then who could?

\---

The sharp knock on the door made Diane jump a little. She’d gotten so caught up in looking through the photos on her coffee table, everything else had just drifted away.

It wasn’t the first surprise of the day; Larry on the other side of the door. His hands were firmly in the pockets of his jeans and a rather uninterested look was on his face.

“Hey,” he said. “Mom sent me up. Wanted to ask if she could borrow a recipe or something.”

Oh, _right._ Diane had kept telling Lisa that she’d lend her her mother’s recipe for Swedish meatballs; it had kept slipping her mind.

“Oh, of course,” she whispered. She held the door open wide enough for the skinny fifteen-year-old to fit through. “Come on in!”

Larry looked up at her with a raised eyebrow, then through the doorway, before finally nodding. “Yeah; okay. Whatever.”

Diane resisted the urge to smile as she closed the door behind him. He was certainly the picture of a disinterested teenager.

Would Sal have been like that, if…?

She shook her head and went to her room. She’d discovered, long ago, that it wasn’t healthy to dwell on the what-ifs and what-could-have-beens; what mattered was what was here and now.

Larry and Lisa were here, and right now, they wanted to know how to make home-made Swedish meatballs. She found the recipe in a box in her closet; it was next to a box of Henry’s old things that she kept meaning to give back to him.

Diane froze as she came back to the living room. There was Larry, sitting on her couch, holding one of the photographs up close to his face.

She cleared her throat, and then it was Larry’s turn to jump. The photograph fluttered back onto the coffee table.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean to pry or anything…I just wanted to sit down, and I saw all of this, and…”

Diane shook her head. _It’s fine,_ she signed. She didn’t think Larry was as well-versed in ASL as his mother, but he seemed to get the message. He scooted to one side of the couch as she approached him, giving her room to sit next to him.

Diane didn’t think he’d ever willingly let her get this close to him before. Was this progress? She hoped so.

The photo he’d been looking at had fallen face-down on the table. She reached out and gingerly picked it up by one of its edges.

She smiled at the sight, despite the ache that had suddenly started in her heart.

“Who are they?” Larry’s voice was almost _too_ soft.

“That’s Henry; my ex,” Diane whispered, pointing at the man with her index finger. His hairline was about an inch lower on his forehead, he’d shaved, and his gut was far less ample. He was actually smiling.

She honestly hadn’t realized how much he had changed since the photo had been taken. Her own hair had absolutely no white in it; while her neck was covered up with a scarf, she knew there was no scar there.

“Oh.” The pause was pregnant. “And…and what about…?”

The little boy standing between Henry and Diane appeared to be about four. That was right…they’d just celebrated his fourth birthday two weeks ago. His shock of blue hair was messy from the wind, and the wide, bright grin reached his equally blue eyes. He was missing two of his front teeth.

Diane had been so delighted, watching him grow up, and realizing that he was starting to look just like his father. Henry, though, had always said that he had her nose and her smile. Right now, she could see it _so clearly_ in this photograph.

“His name was Sal.” How long had it been since Diane had said his name out loud? She hadn’t even told Lisa his name when she’d told her about her family’s situation. “Henry and I agreed that we wanted a name that would be cute for both a boy _and_ a girl. We also thought about Alex or Jamie, but Sal just…fit _so well.”_

“Those are cool,” said Larry. It was probably the nicest thing he’d said to her.

“He was four here. The year after that, he…” Diane swallowed past the lump that had suddenly gotten lodged in her throat.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Larry said quickly. “You don’t have to…”

She shook her head. “I think it’s only fair that you know this about me. A year later, he got attacked by a dog. A big one…it went for his face…”

Diane still had nightmares about it. “I tried to pull it off him. That made it mad, and then it attacked me.” She finally looked at Larry, whose dark eyes were wide. Diane pulled the collar of her turtleneck down. She didn’t miss the sharp gasp he let out at he sight of the ugly scar. “It’s why I can’t speak anymore.” Diane pulled her collar back into place and looked back at the photograph. “When I came to, I was in the hospital, and he was still in surgery. There were _so_ many complications…he was in _such_ a state of shock, and he’d lost _so_ much blood…” Diane blinked back tears. This was already enough to put on Larry’s young shoulders; he didn’t need to see her crying, on top of that. “He’d just barely made it to his fifth birthday.”

She gingerly put the photograph on top of the rest. Finally, she looked at Larry, whose olive skin had turned several shades paler.

“He would have been about your age.”


End file.
